Morning Glory
by mattmetzger
Summary: Leonard is insistent upon his Sunday morning ritual. Spock fails to see the point of said ritual. At first. M/S, just...fluff.


**Notes: Just some completely meaningless crap and fluff. I...completely blame Nicky. Like. Holy crap. Nicky. NICKY.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Star Trek 2009 and I make no profit from this work.**

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><p><em>Morning Glory<em>

The shrill beeping of the hotel alarm pierced sleep almost obnoxiously, and Spock had switched it off before really registering either where he was, or why the alarm sounded different. A moment later, the smell of salt and lilacs - the Hemenian West Ocean - drifted across the room from the open balcony door, and he sat up.

A moment later, the arm around his waist tightened.

"Where're'y'goin'?"

The doctor was completely invisible - a lump under the frankly excessive number of pillows and blankets, barely moving with his breathing. Even his arm was invisible, the blankets twisted about it even though Spock could feel the fingers - complete with the fuzzy warmth of the doctor's waking mind - digging into his side.

"Was that an attempt at speech?" he questioned, vaguely impressed with the way three words somehow had become one.

Perhaps.

"Nuh," came the distinctly non-Standard reply. (Or non-Vulcan, for that matter.) The arm tightened further; due to Spock's relative body mass to Leonard's, it merely dragged the indefinable lump towards him across the mattress. At this point, the top of Leonard's head hit Spock's hip. "Where're'y'goin'?"

Spock hazarded a guess at the terms of the question. "I am getting up."

"Why?"

"...It is morning."

"So?"

Spock blinked down at the bed-tumour by his hip. The arm had slid from his waist to his thighs, the hand situating itself smoothly under the hem of his boxers but apparently uninterested in going further.

"There is no point in remaining in bed any longer."

"Always a point."

Spock was at loss as to what this point _was_.

"In this situation, what _is_ the point?"

Whatever sound emerged was probably a groan. Or a choking noise, but the lack of movement indicated the former.

"Because," the lump enunciated carefully, "I am going to sleep more."

"I am not."

"Doesn't mean you go anywhere."

Spock was now thoroughly confused. "If you are intending to sleep, what would my remaining accomplish?" he questioned, wondering whether to attempt disentangling himself yet. Leonard could be...handsy.

"C'ddle."

"I do not understand."

"_C'ddle_."

"If you insist on maintaining communication, I suggest you speak in complete sentences."

Finally, Leonard actually emerged. Sort of - the lump shifted until a mess of dark hair appeared and rose up enough to allow slitted brown eyes to glower at him from under a rather impressive 'bed head' as it seemed to be called.

"I," he said, very carefully, "wish to sleep in and _cuddle_. I will probably never say that again, but since you asked for a complete sentence, there you fuckin' go. Now _lie down_."

He was approximately three point two centimetres from Spock's nose. Spock was vaguely tempted - and he blamed this on the informal (and unusual) atmosphere of waking in a hotel room - to irritate him by kissing the day and a half's worth growth of stubble liberally decorating the lower portion of the doctor's face.

Obviously, he did not follow through on this urge.

"Lie," Leonard said carefully, "down."

"It would not be a productive use of my time," Spock returned.

"I don't care."

Predictable.

"I really, really don't care."

Also predictable.

Leonard paused, before shifting his hands either side of Spock's hips and bearing his weight down. Although Spock was easily strong enough to push him off again, the initial press of his weight - and the infirm support of the mattress - bore him back down into the bedding, which Leonard began to gather back around them like a very strange bird making a very strange nest.

Not...quite so predictable.

"Mmph," was the probably non-verbal noise that followed, as Leonard more-or-less collapsed his weight back onto Spock, and performed some odd entire-body wriggle that burrowed himself into the lines of Spock's body. It was like having a remarkably heavy and distinctly alive blanket. Which was not, unsurprisingly, something to which Spock was particularly accustomed.

"Is this a part of your cuddling?"

"Yes."

"...This is definitely not a productive use of my time."

"I still don't care," Leonard mumbled somewhere around the vicinity of Spock's jugular.

Spock considered his options, definitely ignoring the gradually slowing wash of Leonard's breathing over his neck and shoulder, before rolling his hip upwards and almost sliding Leonard's body sideways onto the mattress. He _clung_, one arm locked over Spock's chest and nose barely moving from its point of contact on Spock's neck. There was a faint pressure as the doctor made a vague grumble, before stretching his chin forward scant millimetres and pursing his lips in a noiseless kiss to that thumping pulse.

The sun had to be rising now, for Spock felt distinctly warmer.

After a few more moments, allowing Leonard to slip into a deeper doze, Spock shifted sideways again and began to ease out of the bed. The moment that the bare sole of his foot touched the floor, that arm clamped tight again and a slightly alarming growl that was probably physically impossible for most Humans emitted from Leonard's throat.

"_Stay_."

"I am not a pet."

"No, I'd hit a pet with a rolled-up newspaper," the doctor grumbled, squeezing until Spock gave in to the pressure in order to ease the discomfort on his lowest ribs.

"If you are going to insist..."

"I am."

"_If _you are going to insist upon my remaining in the bed as well, at least grant me the opportunity to retrieve some work or some reading material."

"Shore leave. Work's banned."

"...That is most certainly not..."

"Don't care."

His persistence was admirable, if not by now extremely annoying.

"I cannot do nothing."

"Meditate."

"Meditation whilst in contact with you is, quite frankly, Leonard, impossible."

"Thanks," and he _smirked_. Spock had long since learned to tell the difference between smiling and smirking. At least in Leonard's case. "Go back to sleep then."

"I cannot."

"Meh."

"Leonard, I apologise for this crass disturbance of your sleep cycle; however, I must insist..."

"Darlin', you can insist all you like, but you ain't goin' anywhere."

"I could remove you by force."

"You could."

"Should I rephrase? I _will _remove you by force if necessary."

"No you won't."

"I believe the term is 'watch me.'"

Those dark eyes slitted open again, narrowly glowering at him from the crook of his neck and shoulder. There was some calculation occurring, and Spock was not entirely sure that he liked the prospect. Cunning was not an emotion, and yet _he could feel it under Leonard's skin_.

"If I let you get something, will you come right back?"

Spock sensed a trap. "...Yes."

"And you'll stay in the bed?"

"Yes."

"As long as I want?"

"...Within reason."

"_As long as I want_?" and the arm clamped down over his ribcage tightened again. The doctor had, as Jim put it, 'an arm on him.'

He was not, unfortunately, joking.

"...Yes."

"Okay."

And with that, the arm was gone. For a split second, Spock was unsure if the release was serious, but when he noted that same arm beginning to inch its way back over his waist, he slid from the bed with graceless speed. If he did not move now, after all, Leonard was quite likely to break the deal.

He broke enough.

Their bags were not five feet from the bed, and Spock located his general use padd from the labs easily. When he straightened, he found Leonard not only blatantly awake, but sat up in the bed, arms folded across his bare chest, and rather obnoxiously enjoying the view. And smirking again.

"I have a time limit on this, y'know," Leonard drawled. He even sounded idle.

"Of how long?"

"You just ran out."

"Of course," Spock said, resigned to the situation. He briefly considered 'making a run for it' but the sacrifice of his dignity by roaming the hotel in his underwear far outweighed the boredom of remaining in bed. And, quite possibly, Leonard had planned for this.

"C'mon," Leonard said, outright grinning now and patting the mattress beside him. Spock was struck, not for the first time, with the urge to hit him. "The sooner you get back here, the sooner I'm done with my morning Sunday ritual."

"This is a ritual?"

"It is on shore leave."

"Then I must rethink my policy of taking shore leave on Sundays."

"You'll love it really," and if possible, that smirk widened. If it did not cease shortly, Leonard would experienced an injury to one or more of his facial muscles. And Spock, to use Leonard's phraseology, would not care.

With great reluctance, Spock slipped back into the bed. At least sleeping in close quarters with a Human meant that the bed was comfortably warm - as was Leonard, when he folded himself back around Spock's upper body and settled with another of those odd wriggles that swept from the base of the skull to the base of the spine.

"M'ch be'er," he mumbled, situating his face once more into the crook of Spock's neck and shoulder.

The heightened contact, with less of the bedding interfering, permitted more of Leonard's emotion to bleed across their skin and ghost into Spock's nerves. He was contented, to the point of being actively happy, and vaguely amused with their conversation, and - affectionate. The warm flush of affection was a familiar undertone to most of their interactions, but now it crowded out the other, more subtle emotions, and wrapped around him as securely as the blankets themselves.

Perhaps this was the point.

For some time, the only sound in the room was the occasional soft beep of the padd as Spock read through the latest VSA publication and the absent, distant squall of 'birds' (in fact something resembling an airborne lizard) off the shore. The breeze tugged at the curtain and made ghostly, faint shadows on the carpet, barely dark enough to be seen. Between the air and the heat of the bed and the body in it, Spock's concentration began to waver, drifting periodically between the Vulcan script and the slowing breathing of the dozing man along his side.

Approximately one hour and fifty-two minutes after the cessation of their...debate, Leonard emitted a distinctly unattractive and probably quite unhealthy snort, jerking himself (literally, it seemed) out of his stupor and peering blearily around the room. After a moment, he shifted - again with his entire body - and resettled.

With one hand in Spock's crotch.

"Is this the point?" Spock asked calmly, as Leonard's position altered in the subtle motion from 'beside him' to 'completely plastered up against him' and that hand began to move. Dangerously.

"Aftermath of the point," Leonard said calmly, withdrawing that wandering hand briefly to tug the padd free of Spock's fingers and toss it over his shoulder casually. It bounced off their bags and onto the floor, but Spock could not note any damage as he was promptly distracted by the return of that hand to his groin - inside his underwear this time. "As a reward for your cooperation."

"I see. That seems...fair."

"Oh yeah," Leonard's smirk was more of a grin as he demonstrated exactly where Jim's colourful phrase of 'getting one's leg over' came from. "I'm all about the fairness, darlin'."

"And if I now wish to...'cuddle'?" Spock asked, despite the obvious physical reaction suggesting that he did not. The implied lie was worth the odd twitch to Leonard's face before he hid his own response.

"Later."

Approximately twenty-two minutes, in fact.


End file.
